Endurance Stories
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Endurance
The frigid December air bites through the windows of the nearly empty Blue Line train, where Michael sits, clutching an almost-empty bottle of cheap whiskey. His rumpled coat hangs loosely around him, a sad remnant of the man he used to be, as the rhythmic clatter of the train echoes the turmoil within. Flickering fluorescent lights bathe his unshaven face in harsh shadows, each bounce of the train reminding him of the impact of his failures—of a wedding that never was, a family that feels more like strangers, and the job that slipped through his fingers.
By Endurance Stories2 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
The frigid December air bites through the windows of the nearly empty Blue Line train, where Michael sits, clutching an almost-empty bottle of cheap whiskey. His rumpled coat hangs loosely around him, a sad remnant of the man he used to be, as the rhythmic clatter of the train echoes the turmoil within. Flickering fluorescent lights bathe his unshaven face in harsh shadows, each bounce of the train reminding him of the impact of his failures—of a wedding that never was, a family that feels more like strangers, and the job that slipped through his fingers.
By Endurance Stories2 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
At midday, Café Lucerne hums with soft light and gentle stillness: a band of winter sun cutting through tall glass, the city’s noise reduced to a faint lullaby by double-paned windows. Jamie Kingsley begins her lunch hour with a familiar ritual at her window-side two-top—tote bag on the chair, phone flipped face down, legal pad neatly aligned with the table’s edge. The white marble chills her wrists as she slips off her navy gloves one finger at a time, setting them beside her notes before nudging her glasses higher on her nose. Outside, passersby hurry past, heads low, shoulders braced against the Lake Michigan wind, none glancing in.
By Endurance Stories2 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
On Thursday nights, Shelly’s Pub always smells of lemon oil and ambition. The regulars cluster around the long, battered oak bar, watching the Bears game on silent while arguing about everything except football. The only noise louder than the jukebox is the pool table in the back, where Frankie and his gang have staked out territory for the evening.
By Endurance Stories4 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
Three months after the explosion—wedding vows detonated and public humiliation shrapnel embedded in every family photo—Marsha Lewis sits in the living room, hands trembling over a stainless florist’s blade and a heap of white tulips. She snaps the stem of each flower at a perfect diagonal, lines the cut ends in a crystal pitcher, and ignores the way her own breathing disturbs the arrangement’s fragile order. The television is on but muted. The couch still bears the imprint of Michael’s last visit, a pit where her son’s anger sat for the length of a strained apology and then left, the air stripped of oxygen in its wake.
By Endurance Stories4 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
Morning in the Beeks household arrives in gentle, gray light that seeps through the frosted windows and onto the dark hardwood floors. The house feels hushed in the way only winter can manage—every sound muted, every surface cold to the touch, even inside. Melanie Beeks stands by the side door in her gardening clogs, layered against the December chill, head bowed as she wrestles with a mismatched pair of gloves. She keeps her eyes away from the gleam of the home office across the hall, where Lawrence sits immobile behind glass-paned doors, framed by his fortress of legal tomes and a ring of computer screens.
By Endurance Stories4 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
Michael's Logan Square apartment is completely silent, and he is fast asleep, sprawled over his couch. Outside, a tow truck's hydraulic whine sliced through Michael's fitful sleep. He bolted upright on his couch, empty beer bottles clattering to the floor as he stumbled to the window. Through bleary eyes, he watched his car—suspended in mid-air—being hauled away into the gray December morning.
By Endurance Stories5 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
The pounding at his door startled Michael out of a restless sleep. He'd been avoiding everyone for days, letting calls go to voicemail, responding to texts with vague excuses. He knew he couldn't hide forever, but he wasn't ready to face anyone yet—especially not after what happened with Shelly.
By Endurance Stories5 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
Shelly wakes in the blue predawn, alone, tangled in sheets that still smell like Michael’s skin and her own sweat. The apartment is too quiet, the old pipes humming, the bar below dead until noon. Every detail—her bra on the floor, a black sock peeking from under the chair, the ghost of Michael’s handprint on her hip—seems like evidence in a trial that’s just begun.
By Endurance Stories5 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
The neon sign of Shelly's Pub cast a blue glow across the empty street. Inside, the last stragglers were finishing their drinks, but Michael barely noticed them as he slid onto a barstool. His eyes were hollow, his shoulders hunched forward like he was carrying something heavy.
By Endurance Stories5 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
Abby's heels clicked sharply against the polished floor of Krapp and Associates, located inside a downtown office building where Jamie works. Each step fueled by a mixture of rage and desperation that had been building since Michael walked away from her at the altar. The video—that damned video—had destroyed everything. Someone had sent it to Michael, and Abby had a pretty good idea who that someone was.
By Endurance Stories5 months ago in Fiction
Endurance
Outside, the church parking lot has transformed into a battlefield. Splinters of rice and shredded petals dot the pavement, like wedding shrapnel, while clusters of guests loiter in uneasy, gossipy knots. A single limo idles by the curb, its door half open, engine whining in the humid June air, waiting for a bride and groom that will never appear.
By Endurance Stories5 months ago in Fiction
